by KaLyn Cooper
Smiling, Remi lengthened his stride to catch up with Mr. Dunaway. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if you would knock on my door when you’re ready to go to supper. I’ll escort you.”
Mr. Dunaway smiled. “Remi, as I said, I believe we’re very secure here. But how about you walk with me to the dining room?” They passed several open doors into what seemed to be hotel rooms. “This place was built for exactly this situation. While we were initially exploring Venezuela, the upper echelon would occasionally drop in and check on us.” He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “That master suite is about three times the size of the rest and includes an office.” His gaze wandered down the hall. “I think at one time or another, I’ve stayed in every one of these rooms.”
The one closest to the master suite had a light on. “Looks like they picked this one out for you. I’m only going to take a few minutes. I’ll unpack and make those calls later. Everyone has gone home by now, anyway.” He held Remi’s gaze for a long moment. “I’m glad my company decided to go with Guardian and I’m thankful they selected you to lead this team.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dunaway. Don’t forget to knock when you’re ready.” Remi motioned toward the master suite. “I’ll wait until you are in and secure.”
Moments later, Remi stepped through his own doorway. From the hall, it looked like any hotel room, but once inside it was almost double the size. He had a full-length couch against one wall and a massive flat screen television in the living area. Tucked into a corner was a small but fully equipped kitchen with an apartment-sized refrigerator and a drawer-style dishwasher. These accommodations were made for longer term assignments and only slightly smaller than the temporary lodging available at Guardian Security.
Grabbing his shaving kit, Remi popped into the bathroom. He wished he had time for a shower, but that would wait until just before bedtime. He did take a few minutes to wash his face.
It seemed like only a moment later before Mr. Dunaway knocked on his open door. “Remi, are you as hungry as I am?”
“Absolutely,” he confessed. “I didn’t receive any files on the household staff yet, so I take it your company has already vetted them?”
“I’d been told that Bruno Zuniga had agreed to come back and cook for us.” Mr. Dunaway slapped him on the shoulder. “If that’s true, you are in for some of the best American cooking, both North America and South America. He was our cook from the day we opened this compound to the day the last man from Zon Petrol left.”
Remi would still see what Guardian could dig up on him.
To say that Remi felt underdressed in his camouflage utilities, no less than five weapons on his body, was an understatement. The linen-covered table was already set for fine dining with three stacked plates of diminishing sizes, three forks, three knives, two spoons, and three glasses. Thankfully, part of Guardian’s bodyguard training included etiquette classes. He had escorted, a.k.a. guarded, some of D.C.’s elite to the best five-star restaurants inside the Beltway. Any one of them would rival the dining room at the oil company compound.
All his men waited until Mr. Dunaway sat down before they took a seat in one of the remaining seven widely spaced chairs. The elbow room was certainly appreciated. Three women and two men immediately brought armfuls of food from the swinging door to the kitchen. Each man was given his own basket of rolls before the six-course meal was served. Remi was proud of his men as they limited their alcohol intake depending on their duty schedule.
As soon as everyone had finished coffee and dessert, Remi asked for the kitchen staff to join them, so he and his team could officially meet them. After formal introductions were made, Remi asked what they did with the excess food. He couldn’t get the starving people outside the gates off his mind while he and his team were allotted excess.
Bruno didn’t hesitate. “Part of my contract with Zon Petrol allows me to feed my family and those of the household help, which includes not only my people in the kitchen but the housekeepers as well. Just by your presence in this house, you’re feeding nearly fifty other people.” All the servers laid their hands over their hearts. “We thank you for being here.”
Remi, too, felt better about the situation.
“I believe I’ll head back to my room and unpack. I’ve got some phone calls to make,” Mr. Dunaway announced as he rose. Nolan was right by his side.
“I’ll check in with you before I go to bed tonight.” Remi stood and the other men gathered around him. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to get through to Alex and Dex.”
“If my door is closed, that means I’m already in bed. I will warn you, I’m an early riser. I like to hit the gym for about an hour before breakfast,” Mr. Dunaway advised.
Most of the men grinned. “We’ll probably see you there.”
“The gym is fu—freaking awesome.” Blake had the decency to look embarrassed by his near slip.
Mr. Dunaway smiled. “It is fucking awesome. Gentlemen, I’ll see most of you in the morning.” He turned away and headed toward his rooms, followed closely by Nolan.
Remi clapped his hands. “Jake, you ready to show me what this place really has?”
The former special forces man smiled. “Let’s start with the security office.”
An hour later, Remi felt a hundred times better after seeing all the security measures in place. At night, it would only take one man in the security office observing the cameras that constantly changed angles. Gage would have that duty for the next few nights, as they rotated in twelve-hour shifts. He would check with Dex to see if the feed could be sent and monitored live through the D.C. office. That would free up his men considerably.
With a mental list for Dex, Remi dismissed the men until morning and headed for his own room.
It took nearly an hour on the phone with Dex, conferencing in Alex at the end, but Remi got everything he wanted. It would be thirty-six hours before the next resupply shipment, but it would include uplink cabling so Guardian Security’s Operations Center in Miami, where Dex had established an office, would monitor the compound twenty-four seven.
Four more men would also be on that plane. They would report directly to Remi, but their mission would be to travel ahead of Mr. Dunaway and assure the safety of the wells before he arrived. More weaponry was added, as were expanded communications. Each man would be issued a satellite telephone and a new communications unit with extended reach to several miles.
Remi stuck his head out into the hall, thankful to find Mr. Dunaway’s door still open. Once he updated the man, they wished each other good night.
The steaming hot shower rinsed away much of the stress of his first day in country on this new operation. As he evaluated everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, he felt as though he were getting a firm handle on this op.
Remi crawled between the crisp beige sheets that matched the room and pulled his computer onto his lap. He suddenly wondered what Willow wore to bed. He had on lightweight cotton sleep pants and a T-shirt that was so soft from hundreds of washings. He learned the hard way that sleeping naked, and being forced to fight without a stitch of clothing, was a very bad idea.
He got back out of bed and found Willow’s business card. Before he could change his mind, he called the number.
“Willow Cardenas, U.S. Embassy. How can I help you?” She said on a yawn.
“Willow, this is Remi Steel. Did I wake you, sweetheart?” He kept his voice low.
She yawned again. “I guess so. I was lying here reading a book on my tablet. I must’ve dozed off.” Then as though she suddenly realized who he was, she became extremely formal. “Remi, is there a problem?”
There was no problem on his part, but he was concerned about her reaction earlier that day. “No. I just want to call and make sure you’re okay. You were upset by that envelope in your office.” He wanted to give her an opening to talk about it.
“Oh, that was nothing. Have you decided which oil well Mr. Duncan is going to show to Ambassador Snyder?
” Willow’s change in conversation was not exactly subtle, but he’d let her get away with it…this time.
“Two of my men will start checking out the offshore rigs tomorrow, since there are more of them than land-based wells. The day after tomorrow, I have more men arriving for the express purpose of securing the safety of the rigs.”
“It sounds like it will be several days before we need to coordinate that outing.” She certainly didn’t sound disappointed by the delay.
“I’m hoping by tomorrow afternoon will be able to arrange a time. The ambassador seemed anxious to see the rigs.” He was trying to figure out a way to keep her talking, when he heard what sounded like sheets rustling. “Are you in bed?”
Damn. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked that. Too much, too fast.
She giggled. “Yes. Just crawled in. I guess I was more tired than I thought, since I fell asleep on the couch. There’s so much Ambassador Snyder has to learn, and I think he’s designated me as his official teacher. It’s exhausting sometimes.”
“Did you have that same kind of close relationship with Ambassador Vance?” Remi felt a tinge of jealousy of the time the new ambassador was spending with her. It was ridiculous. That was her job.
“No. Not even close.” She scoffed. “It was like pulling teeth to get him in front of the camera, unless he was standing beside President Mendoza. Those two met quite often and he’d take Joseph Allen with him instead of me. Just asking about what they had discussed so I could write a press release…you would’ve thought I was asking to marry his firstborn son.”
She yawned long and hard. “I’m so sorry, Remi. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long day and tomorrow will be even longer. Oh, that reminds me, you might be interested to know that President Guerra has agreed to a phone conversation tomorrow with Ambassador Snyder. He intends to help Mr. Dunaway get an appointment, as well as one for himself.”
In a very soft, sleepy voice, she added, “I hope they can work out something quickly. Venezuela needs so much help and the United States is so generous. I hope they can resolve this peacefully.” Her last word was barely audible.
“Willow, sweetheart, say good night and hang up the phone.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Good night, Remi.”
“Sleep well, Willow.” He hit the end button to disconnect the call. He liked her with her walls down, and the shield of her business suit gone. This was the woman he wanted to get to know better. He needed to make the rig visit happen sooner rather than later. Tomorrow morning, he and Mr. Dunaway would select the order to visit the wells. Jake and Zeb could take the company helicopter and hopefully check out at least two or three.
Remi was looking forward to talking to Willow again tomorrow.
Chapter 6
“Duncan, circle the platform, please,” Jim Dunaway ordered the pilot. “I want to see what condition the hulls are in.” On Remi’s advice, they were visiting an abandoned rig. With only a third of the drilling platforms still in operation, and since they were controlled by the Mendoza government, this was one of the farthest out, and thus the safest.
Willow couldn’t see out of the window if she tried. Squished between Remi and Rocco in the third seat of the Zon Petrol helicopter, she tucked her folded hands between her knees in an attempt to take up as little room as possible. Earlier, she had tried to take notes as Ambassador Snyder and Mr. Dunaway chatted in the second row of seats, but she didn’t have enough room for even her small pad of paper and a pencil. Thankfully, she had an excellent memory.
The two hulking bodyguards sat casually glancing out the side windows as though they had ridden in a helicopter a thousand times. Maybe they had. For Willow, that was only her fifth trip and never in such luxurious accommodations. She had always accompanied the international press and they had paid for the transportation. More times than not, the contract had gone to the lowest bidder. Ripped naugahyde seats worn thin from too many asses sitting on them, sticky floors with discarded food wrappers rolling around her ankles, and an engine that sputtered too often for comfort, was their usual ride.
The seemingly new jet helicopter was extremely quiet thanks to the huge helmet they had given her. Since it was connected to the communication system, she could hear every word clearly.
When the pilot dropped down and slowly moved around the base of the rig, Remi practically wrapped his body around Willow and leaned close to her so he could see out the other side. He filled her personal space with his masculine scent. It was nice. Kind of earthy and spicy but not overpowering. He wasn’t the kind of man to wear cologne or aftershave.
Not that she needed to see rusted steel beams, but she couldn’t if she wanted. Rocco’s broad shoulders completely blocked her view. Instead, she took a few moments to appreciate Remi. His solid body was only a few inches away. As the helicopter jostled, she bounced off his muscular arm. She wondered when she could feel that strength wrapped around her again.
The way he’d held her three days ago in her office had been a teasing sample that she couldn’t get out of her mind. It had been nearly a year since she had taken a lover. The British correspondent had been a pretty face and a satisfactory sexual partner during the two weeks he’d been in Venezuela covering the election, but they’d both known it was a short-term affair.
Remi didn’t know how long he would be in the country, at least that’s what he’d told her when they had talked two nights ago. She’d been too sick to take his call last night, but the night before they’d talked for nearly an hour as each had laid in their own bed miles apart. She thought it was kind of sweet that he wanted to talk to her before falling asleep.
“Take us up to the landing platform,” Mr. Dunaway ordered.
Willow was glad for the warning. As the helicopter lifted, so did her tender stomach. She had spent the previous afternoon sick and throwing up until she’d finally called the medical officer who had instructed her to unlock the cabinet in his old office and told her specifically what medicine to take. She was afraid she had a touch of food poisoning.
When they touched down, Remi and Rocco bolted out the door. Now able to see through the window, Willow recognized several of the ambassador’s guards. Forest Dalton, who went by Phantom, and Cole Kensington, who for some bizarre reason preferred to be called Rex, immediately approached Rocco while two other men stood close to Remi. With a nod, her two flying companions returned to the helicopter and their men dispersed to the upper corners of the rig, sniper rifles across their backs, machine guns next to their bellies, binoculars bouncing on their chests. The ambassador and Mr. Dunaway were as safe and secure as possible, and by default, so was she.
As the last person out of the helicopter, Willow looked at the long drop to the metal deck. The long-legged men had all simply stepped down the three feet.
Remi stopped in front of her. Without asking permission, he grabbed her hips and lifted her out of the helicopter, placing her on the metal decking. She was so surprised she stared at him, slack-jawed.
As he turned to walk away, she finally managed to yell over the whomp whomp of the rotor blades, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You’d better hurry if you want to keep up.” Remi took off, his long strides quickly reaching the other men. His head constantly moved as he scanned the surroundings. She understood that he had a job to do, which was to protect Mr. Dunaway, but she was extremely thankful that he had taken a few moments to help her. He really was a nice guy.
Willow trotted to catch up, then positioned herself next to the ambassador as they descended the stairs. Quietly, she asked him, “Is there anything I can answer for you right now?” This was the first time Ambassador Snyder had ever been on an oil rig. She didn’t have all the answers, by any means, but it was her job to keep him as informed as possible and to make him look good.
He gave her sideways glance. “It’s very rusty. Is it safe?”
Mr. Dunaway glanced over his shoulder and slowed. “I’ve seen worse
brought back to life. There’s been a lot of what we refer to as deferred maintenance. This rig was built with an estimated lifetime of fifteen to twenty years. That’s based on normal maintenance cycles and constant use.” He stopped and let out a heavy sigh. “We’re more concerned about the pipe and the pumps. If they’re still in working condition, all this can be replaced.” He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say the well quit working and the rig was simply abandoned.”
“Satellite imagery is showing that a boat is visiting the rigs once a week, filling fifty-gallon barrels from a faucet close to the water line,” Remi interjected.
Jim Dunaway burst out laughing. “Smalltime thieves. Given what I’ve seen of Venezuela in the past three days, I’m almost proud of them. They’re stealing from the country that’s starving them to death. Hopefully, the few bucks they get for a barrel of crude is enough to feed their family. As far as we’re concerned, all they’re doing is bleeding off part of the pump prime. Those few gallons aren’t going to make a damn bit of difference.”
As they reached the next level, Jim Dunaway and his bodyguards stopped short, leaving Willow, the ambassador, and Rocco’s men backed up against the steps.
“Mr. Dunaway, good to see you again.” Joseph Allen stood with his hand extended to the oilman.
The ambassador whipped his head toward Willow. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Willow was completely taken by surprise. Joe Allen was not on any list for today’s outing. They had purposely kept this trip a secret for security reasons. She looked to Rocco for an explanation, but Joe had already moved toward the ambassador.